The Child No One Saw
by XME
Summary: Harry Potter has been abandoned by the Dursleys, and now he is in foster care. How has it come to this? Warnings: Crossdressing, chan, child abuse, exorcisms, m/m, HP/OC, etc.
1. Prologue

AN: Yes, this prologue is very short. The later chapters will be longer, _but_ they will be few and far between. I have two other stories I'm working on right now, and I'm only starting this to try and get it out of my system enough that I can concentrate on them.

**The Child No One Saw**

"'_It is the child no one ever saw!' exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. 'She has actually been forgotten!'" __The Secret Garden__, by Frances Hodgson Burnett_

**Prologue**

There are two policemen standing on a doorstep. One doesn't want to be there; it's his daughter's fifth birthday, but he was unable to get time off. He is impatient with the task, which he believes to be a false alarm, and he looks at the urban street with distaste. "This is pointless," he says.

The other is an older man, perhaps fifty. He has nothing to go home to but loves his job, and that makes him friendly and patient. "Don't whinge, John," he says with amusement. "That's Rachel's job." He likes children, and has baby-sat John's daughter Rachel many times.

"Let's try the back, Fred," John says, shifting agitatedly from foot to foot. "We've been knocking for _ages_."

"Fifteen minutes, if that," corrects the older man, but they go around back anyway.

No one has seen anyone enter or leave the house in three days, and the father hasn't been to work in the same amount of time. No one has heard from them or been able to contact them (or so says one of their busybody neighbours). The officers are there to look for signs of foul play. In John's opinion, they are there more to give said nosey-parker something to gossip about.

The backdoor is unlocked, and they go inside. The house has the quiet stillness of empty buildings, and they find themselves speaking in whispers as they explore. Everything seems to be in order, and the cupboards have been emptied of perishables. It seems like the family just went on a trip and forgot to tell anyone.

They check the house room by room nonetheless, working from the top down. It only takes them a few minutes to work through the upstairs rooms- all but one. In a strange piece of architectural planning, one room has a row of padlocks along the outside. Fred continues downstairs while John picks the locks.

Finally, he opens the door. It is a small room, filled with dusty, broken toys, forgotten or abandoned by the people who had lived here. There is a terrible smell, which seems to emanate from a pail in the corner. There is also a dresser, and a nightstand with a candle, and a rusty cot. On the cot is a pile of old blankets and sheets, which- to John's surprise- rise and fall gently, almost as if someone is breathing under them. There can't really be someone there, though, because the house has been empty for days, and the door was locked from the outside.

Watchfully, almost silently, he takes the few necessary steps across the room- very few, for the room is tiny. Tentatively, he reaches out and pulls back the top of the coverlet. He is met with the sleeping face of a young girl, around thirteen years of age, mayhap younger. She blinks open her eyes, awoken by the movement. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of green, but fever-blurred and dull.

His first instinct is to curse, but instead he kneels beside her and reaches out a tender hand to brush her dark hair out of her face and check for a temperature. She's burning up. "Hey," he says softly. "Are you alright, kid?"

She just stares at him, her eyes unfocused.

"Do you have a name?" he asks, still fighting the urge to curse. This is impossible. The house has been empty for nearly a week. Has she been lying in here for all of that time, with no food or water? He would take it as a case of child abandonment and abuse, but there had been only been one child in this house; an obese boy, just turned sixteen. This child is everything but that.

She closes her eyes, and her breathing returns to the gentle undulation of sleep.

John curses. Moving quietly out to the hallway, he shuts the door behind him and calls, "Fred! There's a kid up here!"


	2. The Orphanage

**The Child No One Saw**

Note: The phrases marked by *...* come from Roald Dahl's Matilda, pages 159-160.

Warning: Mention of rape. Please don't read this if that will upset you.

**Chapter Two**

_A woman with bulging eyes sneered down at him from the heights of the high table. *"My idea of a perfect school,"* she shouted in a deep voice like a bullfrog, *"is one that has no children in it at all. One of these days I shall start up a school like that. I think it will be very successful."* As she spoke her voice became deeper and more croaking, until, at the end, it was nearly unintelligible; and then she turned into a frog. _

"_Don't worry about her, baby," a woman cooed in a shrill, baby voice. A gentle hand ran through his hair and smoothed it. "She had it coming, didn't she? Frightening my poor baby girl like that," but toward the end of the sentence the voice was deeper, a man's voice, and the hand was large and heavy. _

"_My sweet little baby doll," the man murmured, the man's hand sliding down to wrap around his throat, the man's lips coming down to press wetly against his cheek. "You'll be a good boy for me, won't you, doll?" And the man's other hand slid down, down..._

_Then everything fell apart in a spinning world of red, red blood and hunger and heat and dying and..._

XXXXXXX

July 15th, 1996

"I heard that everyone thought he was a _girl _when they found him," a boy, his voice only just beginning to deepen, whispers from outside the doorway. "They say that he was dressed in girl's clothes and _everything_." His voice contains a perfect mix of disgust and glee, as all topics involving gender and sex do at his age.

"_I_ heard that he's actually both," says another boy, snickering guiltily at the forbidden topic, "that he has boy parts _and _girl."

"You can't be _both_," the first boy sneers. "Whoever told you that was having you on."

"You can too!" the second boy protests. "I saw it on the telly."

"Do you always believe everything you hear?" The first boy laughs nastily. "You're such a gullible _baby_."

"I'm not!" he shouts. "You take that back!"

The nurse, hearing his cry, bustles out of a back room. "Now that is enough of that!" she declares. "Move along, now. I'm sure you have somewhere better to be."

"I've got a headache, though," the first boy mutters.

The nurse doesn't budge. "You're well enough to fight, you're well enough to take care of yourself. Out!"

In a rumpled cot, Harry keeps his eyes closed until both the boys and the nurse have left.

XXXXXXX

July 16th, 1996

"I'm your case-worker. My name is Mariah Bentley. What's your name?" the cheerful blond woman asks. She is middle-aged, just old enough to have some crows-feet around her eyes and light smile-lines over her mouth.

The (potentially) pretty child in front of her doesn't answer, only kicks at the floor with his feet and looks everywhere but at her. He is wearing standard hospital wing pyjamas, his black hair is a tangled mess, and his eyes are so shadowed that the dark circles around them reach his cheekbones. He is the picture of illness.

_At least,_ Mariah thinks, _a few days of food have made him a little less skeletal._

"Do you know your name?" she asks gently. "It's alright if you can't remember; you've been ill for a long time, and some children in your situation-"

"I know my name!" he protests hotly, finally looking up at her. His eyes are the brightest green she has ever seen. "I'm not an idiot!"

_Ha! That got him to talk. _She hides a smirk. "I would be more willing to believe that if you would tell it to someone," she replies pointedly.

He turns red and looks away. "I have _two_," he mutters in weak protest.

"Then tell me," she answers. She's misunderstood, and thinks that he said 'I have, too'.

"Holly Veronica Dursley and Harry James Potter," he tells her grudgingly. "But you won't find any records, so don't even bother looking!" he adds.

"I see," she hedges. "And why is that?" She knows immediately that she's pushed too far- he looks away again, and his lips press into an uncooperative line. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," she adds quickly. "Was Harry your name when you were born, or was Holly?"

She knows the answer perfectly well (he is, after all, male), and he obviously knows it. "Harry," he replies, eyeing her warily.

"Lovely!" she says. "What a nice name. And what about Holly? Did you choose that for yourself?" She waits on tenterhooks for his answer, afraid that she's gone too far and he'll close off again…

"No. My aunt did," he says. He immediately seems to regret it, and he refuses to tell her more no matter how hard she tries.

Still, the day isn't an entire loss; they now know the boy's name and that he has an aunt.

XXXXX

_December 15__th__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_As promised, a letter a day. We are now on day one._

_I can't believe Hogwarts has been let out for the rest of the year. I understand why they closed it, but couldn't they have finished the year? Now we have to do the first half of the Fifth Year all over again._

_Anyway, things here are… well, horrible, but bearable. They've been worse to me before. After two summers, unfortunately, the threat of a "mass-murderer" godfather has worn off, and they know I can't use magic outside of school. Since I'm home all day, Aunt Petunia has decided I'm in charge of a dozen or so daily chores, plus whatever else she can come up with. Thankfully, she only makes me do indoor chores. _

_Dudley's school, unfortunately, closed, too- all the attacks are being blamed on_

_terrorists or something. He's (and the rest of us with him!) still of his diet. HELP!!_

_Once again, my school books have been locked away. Any suggestions?_

_Hermione, there are some things I haven't told you. Nothing important, really. But… If I tell you, do you promise to keep my secrets? Not to say I'll tell you._

_How's your family? Any news from the W.W.?_

_Harry Potter_

_December 16__th__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_Sorry, not much time. My parents decided we should go to France, and we're so busy! _

_Fudge included with letter._

_We can share books. Here's potions to start. Send it back tomorrow._

_Of course I could keep your secret, Harry! I promise. Why so worried if it isn't important, I wonder?_

_No news, everyone's fine, more tomorrow,_

_Hermione Granger_

_December 16__th__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Would you keep my secret even if you knew it was for my own good to tell? Does keeping it include not forcing me to tell anyone else?_

_Thanks for the fudge. Have fun at the beach. Was sending the potions book a hint not to put potions off until the last minute? Good idea. There's some interesting stuff in that book when you actually read it, did you know? I'm going to finish the first chapter, at LEAST, before I send it back to you. Then again, anything's more interesting than yard work._

_Harry Potter_

_December 17__th__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_What is this secret of yours, that you're so worried about it? Harry, of course I won't tell. This is something serious, isn't it? Please, tell me. I'm worried now._

_You? Reading a potions textbook? For fun? …Seen any pigs flying lately?_

_Here're some cinnamon rolls!_

_My mum bought me the most gorgeous dress today- a sort of mix between a witch's robe and a Muggle dress. It's a loose sort of waistless thing in a pretty shade of blue. It's such a relief to wear something normal, you know? I can't stand wearing pants at all anymore- too much time in robes, I suppose! Mum has promised to buy me new clothes. I bought new summer dresses after second year, but I have hardly any winter clothing. Almost no dresses, either! It's horrid._

_I got some new books, too. You can borrow them when I'm done, if you want. After all, "anything's better than yard work". They're all about the myths and history of witches and wizards- and they're Muggle books, so it's the Muggle point of view._

_Hermione Granger_

_December 17__th__, 1995_

_I'll write more later-Harry_

_December 18__th__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry I took so long. I wasn't sure what to say- or even if I wanted to say anything. About my secret, I mean. It's not a big deal, really. Nothing new, at least. Only it's something I haven't told you about._

_The Dursleys hate me. You know that. They're bad to me. You know that, too. Except that you don't know how badly. They really, really hate me, Hermione. _

_Hermione: If I miss a day, send someone from the order to check on me, please._

_Harry Potter_

_December 19__th__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_What shall I tell them to get them to come? And… What have the Dursleys done to frighten you so? Don't tell me if you don't want to._

_Enclosed are a book of Muggle superstitions, the potions textbook, the transfigurations textbook, and some cake._

_It really is interesting, what Muggles come up with when it comes to magic._

_Please respond soon. I'm worried about you._

_Hermione Granger_

_December 19__th__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I think I changed my mind about Potions. I wonder if Ron could get me some books on it from Diagon if I had Gringotts send him some of my money? I'll have to write him. I still hate Snape, by the way. Even if Potions is cool._

_If I don't write, say I told you I was considering suicide (I'm not)._

_I accidentally slept in until seven today, and got in big trouble. Not fair! I mean, it's not like I have and alarm clock, is it? So then breakfast was late, and I wasn't allowed to have any as punishment. Plus, I now have bruises on my arms from my uncle grabbing me too hard while he yelled. Oh, well, I had a sandwich for lunch, at least. Then I didn't get dinner, though. See, some of my uncle's friends came over without calling first (were just "in the neighborhood"). So my aunt had to hide me really fast, because no one knows I live here. She shoved me out the back door, since I was standing right next to it. _

_Without a coat. _

_Anyway, the guests left after maybe an hour or so. But my hands were so numb that I dropped a cup when I was making dinner. So I was in trouble and screamed at for the third time today (sleeping in, breakfast late, broken cup). My aunt slapped me because of the cup, she was so angry. And I had to miss dinner as punishment. So I was very, very grateful for the food you and Ron sent me. Thanks!_

_So. Today was actually a normal day. This is your answer to the second question._

_You're right about the superstitions. Are any of them real? I'm tempted to freak out Dudley with them, but I wouldn't want to call up a demon by accident, you know._

_Harry Potter_

_December 20__th__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_How do you expect me to handle this information? I don't know what you want me to do. I- Harry, I don't want you to be hurt! How can they treat you like that? What can I do? Is there anything I can do? Please, tell me. Please._

_Hermione Granger_

_December 20__th__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Please, all I want is someone to tell things to without them getting angry or trying to help me or anything. Can you do that for me? Just ignore what I tell you but listen. Please._

_I think I changed my mind about Potions. I wrote Ron to ask him if he could get me some books on it from Diagon if I had Gringotts send him some of my money. I'm waiting for a response. I still hate Snape, by the way. Even if Potions is cool._

_You're right about the superstitions. Are any of them real? I'm tempted to freak out Dudley with them, but I wouldn't want to call up a demon by accident, you know._

_Here are the textbooks back. I'll have to borrow the Transfigurations one again later, but I read all of Potions and won't need it again for a few weeks. I even started my Potions essay; would you mind terribly if I occasionally asked you to check facts?_

_I'm only a quarter of the way though the Superstitions book. Do you mind if I keep it a while longer? It isn't very long, so not too much longer, but still._

_Harry Potter_

_December 20__th__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_Yes._

_I'm glad you've started on your homework, and that you're enjoying Potions so much. I'll gladly check facts for you! Asking Ron to fetch you books was a good idea. Why didn't I think of that? _

_A few. There's no such thing as demons, though, so no troubles there. Also, the ones that work are hedge-witchery, and don't count as "real" magic, according to the Ministry. One can use them even as an underage witch or wizard without getting in trouble. You can most certainly borrow the book longer, Harry. I really am glad you're using your time off to do something useful!_

_We're coming home from France tomorrow. We have to get up at five to head home. Yuck! It's been lovely, though. I'll write you a longer letter on the plane tomorrow, telling you all about it._

_Hermione Granger_

_December 21__st__, 1995_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Uncle Vernon has decided to send Dudley to the nearby secondary school. He wants to send me, too, to "get me out of the house" (in other words, Dudley's whinging about how "if he doesn't have to go, why do I?" and so on). The lack of school records for the past five years causes problems, though. I suppose I could get Dumbledore to fake some- if Uncle Vernon asked nicely._

_Oh no! I'm doing something useful! Speaking of which, do you have any idea what Muggles study in school between ages eleven and fifteen? If I end up going to a Muggle school, I'll be so behind!_

_I'm glad you're going home- it gives you more time to write to me! Even if you have to get up at five 'o'clock. I have to get up by six every day- OR ELSE. So no complaining! I get enough of that from Dudley._

_When are you getting those new clothes you mentioned? You have to tell me about them so I can live vicirously through you. I miss robes, too. Unfortunately, boys don't wear dresses. Could you imagine the looks on my relatives' faces if I did? Not to mention how much I miss winter clothes._

_Ron wants to know if you've mentioned Viktor to me (he just wrote). I wonder why? Do you want me to wait to reply to him until you can write back and mention Viktor to me?_

_That's all for today, I suppose. I'm almost done the superstitions book, surprisingly. I'll return it soon. Ron says he'll get me my books on Saturday, hurrah! He still thinks I'm insane for wanting Potions books, though._

_Harry Potter_

_December 21__st__, 1995_

_Dear Harry,_

_It's 'vicariously'. School's only been out for a week (as of today, actually) and you've already forgotten how to spell. Oh, dear, you really will need to work if you want to keep up in a Muggle school, won't you?_

_France was lovely. We were in a little town, almost in the country. We went on walks every day, and we were still close enough to the city for day trips (I nearly froze to death spending all that time outside, though). _

_Speaking of Viktor, guess who was visiting the same town? I can't believe I forgot to mention it! I met up with Viktor the day before yesterday. He was as pleasant as ever. He really is wonderful, isn't he? I write him every week, you know. (You can quote that to Ron.)_

_I have no idea what Muggles learn in secondary school. I go to Hogwarts, too, remember? It would be good if you didn't let the year go to waste, though. Not that you are, of course. You'll do brilliantly in your classes next year, I expect. I wonder if they'll test everyone somehow, to find out if any students can just skip the rest of fifth year? I hope they don't. I don't want to be split off from Ron (not that he couldn't manage to, only he's being lazy at the moment; he'll only work if his mum makes him)._

_My mother is taking me shopping the Saturday after next. I'll write you after, and tell you all about my new clothes. Who would have thought? Harry Potter asking for detailed descriptions of fashion. I guess you must be Lavender's dream boy (I'm just teasing, don't worry)._

_Mum says she'll take me into London (to go to Diagon Alley) sometime next month, and wants to know if you'll come. Bookstore! We could tell your aunt and uncle that… I don't know, that I go to a girls' catholic school near Hogwarts. Oh, and that I'm a very down-to-earth girl who doesn't believe in magic. I'll get my mother to go on a rant about how evil it is when (if?) she calls to ask them. Please please please??_

_I have to go for now, we're stopping for lunch. I'll write more later._

_Hermione Granger_


	3. Roommates

AN: To everyone who was confused last chapter: There are two timelines here. One is in late 1995/early 1996; that's the letters and such. The other is the summer of 1996, when Harry is at the orphanage (and about a week and a half after the police found him). There are dates at the beginning of each time-change and each letter.

XXXXX

_January 1st, 1996_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Saturday the 7th sounds fine, but I can't go to church with you on Sunday. I'm not good with churches (blame it on my uncle and a traumatic experience as a child). A sleep-over sounds fun, though- but are you sure your cousin is willing to chaperone? Does she know about magic?_

_If it all works out, I'll just hang out in the graveyard while you're in church. I like graveyards a lot (I know, weird). My aunt and uncle are completely convinced that you and your parents are religious nuts, so tell your mum good job. They keep bringing up the trip while smirking meanly at me._

_On which note, what are your parents like? I don't know them very well, you know._

_Your new winter dresses sound great, especially the green swishy one. I almost wish I was a girl, too (except I don't). Did you really get me one of those long coats? Really and truly? If you really did, I'll love you forever and ever and ever and be your bestest friend. (I don't have any coat, let alone a cool, long one)._

_Speaking of me being girly, my aunt is taking a class on make-up. She says that doing new things on herself is too hard, so she's using me as a practice dummy. Yesterday I had blue eye-shadow up to my eyebrows. Dudley kept calling me Bobo the Clown, until I talked my aunt into letting me wash it off. Yuck!_

_Dudley's enrolled in school now. He still comes home every day, sadly, but at least I sometimes get a real lunch while he's at school. Did I ever tell you why my uncle gave up on finding records for me? My aunt is pregnant! The baby's due in June, which is sort of cool, except that I'm trying not to think about what she and Uncle Vernon did a few months ago. Ewwwww. Anyway, I'm doing most of the chores and stuff so that she won't "strain herself" (Uncle V's words). So he doesn't want me to go to school where they'll lose the free labour for eight hours a day._

_I'm using any free time I get to read that book on teaching defence and that other one on Potions. Snape won't know what hit him! And just wait for DA to start again! (Unless we have a real teacher.)_

_Anyway, my aunt's screaming for me (doesn't screaming strain her poor, fragile body?) so I have to go. What time will you pick me up Saturday?_

_Yours, Harry_

_January 2nd, 1996_

_Dear Harry,_

_I can't wait! We'll pick you up at seven in the morning, alright? And we'll just skip church this week, if it makes you uncomfortable- we're not going to make you sit out in the snow for an hour, Harry!_

_Yes, I really did get you a trench-coat. I expect you to wear it, too, so you don't get ill! Speaking of illness, my mother wants to know when you last had your eyes or teeth checked. She wants to get you an eye appointment and look over your teeth herself- just go along with it. She's worse than even me, once she gets her mind set on something!_

_On your aunt and uncle two (three?) months ago: Ew. Ew. Ew. I didn't need that in my head, you horrible boy! Maybe your new cousin will be better than your other relatives, though, do you think?_

_My mum and dad are very nice and nothing like your relatives. You'll like them. They say that they feel that they know you already, because I talk about you so much. My father wants to feed you and my mother wants to buy you warm clothing. Don't worry, I'll protect you!_

_I'll wear the green dress on Saturday, just for you. And I'll bring your coat!_

_How are your Potions studies going?_

_Love, Hermione_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

July 17th, 1996

"Thank you," the caseworker (what was her name again?) sighs gratefully, taking the forms from Harry. "We've been going insane trying to do your paperwork without information on you."

"I told you there weren't records," he tells her with amusement. "You should have just asked me to fill this out then."

"Yes, but until I discovered that you don't exist in the files, I thought everyone had records," she admits. "I feel a bit as if you told me the sky is yellow with green polka-dots, and then went outside and discovered you were right."

Harry can't help it; he laughs. "It only has green polka-dots on odd Thursdays that fall on blue moons," he tells her seriously.

She laughs, and then turns to the paperwork. She's barely started reading when she looks up at him, a question on her face. "You're nearly sixteen?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "Why?"

She looks him over. He is a small, feminine boy, without a trace of hair on his face despite a week in hospital without shaving. "You look about twelve," she says dryly, and he puffs up in defence of his age.

"I do not!" he protests. "I'm just short for my age." 'Short' is an understatement, Mariah Bentley thinks. He's about five feet tall.

She doesn't dignify his comment with a response, instead sorting through the four pages of information. 'Name: Harry James Potter. Date of Birth: 7/31/1980. Parents: Lily Potter nee Evans, deceased; and James Potter, deceased...' she skims over the rest of the information on his parents; there isn't much, actually. 'Current Guardians, if different: Vernon Dursley, 39 (uncle); and Petunia Dursley nee Evans, 38 (aunt); and other children of guardians: a son, Dudley Dursley, 16.'

_Finally, the mysterious aunt- who happens to be the co-owner of the house where he was found, _Mariah thinks, pleased to finally have answers. _And here is the address of the house; so he did live there, then._

'Current Residence: #18 Rosebud Lane, Greater Whinging, Surrey. Previous Residences: #4 Privet Drive…' _Blah, blah, blah, boring…_ 'Educational History:…' _So on, so forth- why don't we have his school records, if he went to primary school in Little Whinging? _'Current School: Hogwarts.'

"Where's Hogwarts?"

"Scotland," the boy answers, but he isn't looking at her. "It's an alternative school. You won't find many records for it, either."

She wants to question him on this, but decides to let it go. He's been so cooperative today.

'Other relatives: Sirius Black, godfather; currently hiding from the police at unknown location.' _Good Lord, _Mariah thinks (and almost says).

'Doctor information…' _Well, that's a sparse enough section, _she thinks derogatorily. Sometimes it's the little things that really bother her about abuse cases; her husband always says that it's because she's too empathic to handle the worse things, so she takes out her frustration on the little things. Neglecting to take children to the doctor is one of the things that drive her crazy.

That's the end of the forms (for now). She slides the papers into their folder. "Well, then," she says, as cheerfully as she can manage. "Mrs. White says that you have a clean bill of health. Why don't you get cleaned up in the bathroom- it's over there," she adds, pointing. "After you're dressed, we can get you settled into a dormitory. I have some clothes here in about your size, just until we can get your own things from your house."

The last sentence is muffled, as she bends down to dig through her big black bag. After some flustered digging and a muttered 'darn it all', she pulls out a pair of jean overalls and a green T-shirt. "Here!" she declares triumphantly. "I knew I had them somewhere. They're second-hand; you don't mind, do you?"

Harry takes them from her hesitantly as she dives into the bag again. He wrinkles his nose at the overalls, thinking of the toddlers he's seen wearing similar things at the park.

"But these _aren't _second hand," she adds, handing him socks and underwear. "I hope they fit. If not- well, we'll think of something."

Harry takes them and heads obediently into the bathroom.

XXXXX

A child, pretty but androgynous, is led into one of the dormitories for teenage boys. It has messy black hair down to its chin, with a layer of bangs that, presumably, would be even along the bottom if it weren't for the bits that curl or stick out. Its eyes are hidden, at first, by long lashes as it looks shyly at the floor. When the child looks up, its eyes are as green as a cat's. It seems to be about twelve years old.

A pretty, dark-skinned woman stands behind it, her hand on its shoulder. "This is Harry," she tells the occupants of the room. "He's nearly sixteen, and he's your new roommate. Harry," she adds, turning her attention to the child, "that's your bed, right there." She points. "Will you be alright until tomorrow? The others will show you where everything is." At this last, she gives the boys a pointed stare.

They wince and try to give it back, but it's too sharp. They settle for agreeing hurriedly.

She hugs Harry and vanishes down the hallway, leaving only a trace of perfumed air, a clicking of heels, and a very confused young boy. There is a very tense silence.

"Is it true that they brought you in wearing girls' clothes?" one of the boys bursts out, breaking the silence. He has spiky auburn hair and cruel eyes.

Harry shrugs. "I wouldn't know. I was asleep," he replies. There is another awkward silence, while the boys squirm uncomfortably and Harry tries to memorize the floor.

"I'm going to the game room," one of the boys announces suddenly. He pushes roughly by Harry on his way out, but throws back over his shoulder, "You can come, too, if you want."

"Alright," says Harry, equally casually, and he tries to smother a grin.

The first meeting seems to set the tone for all of Harry's interactions with his roommates. They mostly ignore him and his oddities, but let him follow the around like a lost puppy.

Oddly enough, his real friends are found elsewhere, with a group that he would have said (up to a few months ago) had nothing in common with him.


	4. Blush

AN: Opening with a newspaper article this time, partly because it's necessary and partly so as to refresh your memory after the long wait. Sorry about that! Things have been insane.

(Those of you who are reading Glass Magic; I'll try to get the next chapter up before I leave the country on the twenty-second. If I don't, I'll have one up by the seventeenth of June.)

Chapter Four

xxxx

_Teen starved, imprisoned in Surrey_

_Greater Whinging, June 16th- A teenage boy was found abandoned in a locked room last week, say police. _

_On the fifth of this month, officers entered a Greater Whinging home following a call by worried neighbours. The residents of the home had allegedly been missing for three days. _

_The officers, John Benson and Fredrick Caley, found no signs of anything wrong within the home until they reached the second level, where they found a door held closed by several padlocks. Benson proceeded to pick the locks, while Caley went downstairs to check the basement. _

_Entering the room, Benson found what he believed to be a young girl, who was feverish and, says Benson, 'skeletal'. There was no food or water in the room, only a pail for waste materials. He immediately called Caley, and they called for an ambulance. At the hospital, it was discovered that the 'girl' was actually a boy. _

_The boy, who appears to be about twelve years old, was listed as a John Doe at first. The owners of the Surrey home have only one known child in their care, their 'unusually large' (as described by a neighbour) sixteen-year-old son. The boy finally told his caseworkers his name yesterday, but no records have been found for anyone by that name. _

_The family is still missing. Police request that anyone with further information contact the Greater Whinging police department._

xxxxx

January 7th, 1996

Petunia is out-of-sorts today. It wouldn't matter so much if Uncle Vernon were home to coddle her, but Harry's alone with her. He's opened and closed the window six times, straightened her covers, made her tea twice (and had to redo it each time because it wasn't quite right), made her eggs and taken them away when she decided she wasn't hungry, and all of that in addition to his usual chores.

He's actually rather pleased that she's decided to put make-up on him today, because it means that he can sit down for awhile.

"Look up," she orders, aiming an eye-liner pencil at his face in a vaguely threatening way. He obediently looks up at the ceiling, easily keeping his eyes open and still as she applies the eye-liner. It was much more difficult to do so when she started this, but he's had plenty of practice now.

Next comes the blush, which always makes him blush for real (boys _don't_ wear _blush_). It's an oddly pleasant sensation, though: the brush and the powder are soft, and Petunia is gentle when she does this.

"Open," she tells him, unscrewing the cap of a little jar of lip-gloss and scooping some onto her finger. He opens his mouth accommodatingly, and she carefully spreads the gloss over his mouth. Her attention is entirely on what she's doing, and he takes advantage of the moment to look at her from close up. When she's occupied with his make-up, she doesn't sneer and scowl like she usually does whenever he's around. It's the only time she's ever looked at him without disgust.

She finishes and pulls back, so he quickly averts his gaze. "There," she says, admiring her work. "Lovely." From the corner of his eye, she looks smug.

Then the moment is gone, and she shoves at his arm. "Now go away and get back to work," she snaps. "I want to sleep for awhile."

xxxxx

Hermione and her parents arrive at one o'clock. She has on a deep green dress with a skirt that looks like it will swirl out when she spins. Harry grins at her until his aunt steps out of the kitchen, where she had been enjoying her afternoon tea. "Who is it?" she asks sharply.

"It's Maria and her parents," he says, and turns to frown at his aunt. "Are you sure you don't need my help? I could-"

"No, no, dear," Petunia says, with a malicious grin. "You go have... fun."

"Thank you for loaning Harry to us for the evening, Petunia," Mrs. Granger says, giving Aunt Petunia a simpering smile. "He'll be such a help carrying bags, and I just know he'll love prayer group. Oh, and the two meetings of church tomorrow- we go to the regular service and the youth service, of course."

Petunia smirks. "Oh, yes, good luck with that," she says. "If you can get him through the door of a church, I'll be amazed."

"Oh?" says Mrs. Granger. Harry can see that she's itching to leave, but Petunia doesn't seem to notice.

"The last time we tried to take him, he lit the sanctuary on fire," Petunia tells her cheerfully. "Well, have fun, now!" she says, waving, and she vanishes back into the kitchen.

Hermione and her mother share a disbelieving glance, and Harry slips outside, shutting the door behind him.

"What a horrible woman," says Mrs. Granger, shuddering.

Hermione is giggling. "'Lit the sanctuary on fire'? How does she come up with these things?"

Harry winces. "That one's true, actually," he admits sheepishly. Hermione and Mrs. Granger stare at him. "I was eight, all right?" he says defensively. "The priest tried to bless me or whatever, and next thing I knew, all of the lamps were exploding." He shrugs. "It's not like I did it on _purpose_."

Hermione sighs. "Only you, Harry."

No one talks for several minutes after that, until Hermione, with a gasp, bends over to dig around under the seat. "Wait, wait, I have it here somewhere... Ah! Here!" Hermione says, shoving a bundle of fabric into his arms. "I hope it fits," she adds, looking Harry over.

Unfolding it, Harry discovers a black trench-coat with silver buttons. He holds it up to himself, and decides that it will probably fit him, although it's a bit too wide. "Awesome," he breathes. "I've never had a coat before. Thanks!"

Mrs. Granger glances back at them in the mirror, frowning. "What do you mean? Why haven't you had a coat?" she asks, her brow creasing with worry.

"Oh, I had cloaks and stuff," Harry tells her hurriedly. "And jackets."

"But if your relatives are Muggles, surely you've had-"

"Mum!" Hermione exclaims, "You _promised_ not to bug him about that kind of thing." She gives her mother the stern look that Harry knows very, very well from the nights when he was playing chess with Ron instead of doing Potions homework.

Speaking of which... "Hey, Hermione, there was something that I didn't understand about the combination of dragon scales and rose hips..."

xxxxx

June 18th, 1996

"If you're so bored, then why don't you go hang out with someone else?" One of the boys, Ben, finally snaps. Harry, despite his best efforts, has been yawning and sighing distractedly; the boys are playing some video game with guns and shooting.

Violent video games aren't terribly interesting once you've fought for your life against the most powerful wizard who's ever lived.

"I'm okay," Harry mumbles, and shrugs apologetically. He ducks his head so that his hair partly covers his face, and looks up through his lashes. (He picked this particular habit up mostly because John-from-before would start blushing and stuttering whenever he did it, and Harry found that utterly hilarious.)

"No, you're bored," one of the other boys says quietly. "Not to be rude, but maybe you really should go find something else to do." Jim's always been nice to Harry, if a bit dismissive toward him.

Harry is therefore a little surprised by what he's just said. "Oh," Harry answers. "All right, then."

How he ended up playing dress-up with the girls, he'll never be able to recall, but that's all right; and it's more than all right when the girls decide to play nights and ladies and Harry gets to be _rescued _from a "dragon" instead of fighting it, for once.

xxxxx

June 30th, 1996

They were on a field trip when things started to go wrong.

It was late at night; the children were all sound asleep in their sleeping bags on the museum's floor. It was silent, although the skeletons of long-dead animals which loomed above them looked like they could begin to roar again at any time- or, at least, Harry had thought so when the students were wandering through the halls earlier that day. (He had wisely kept this thought to himself, having learned by now the limit of the other boys' patience with oddities).

Now, though, Harry is sleeping, albeit restlessly. He shifts and whimpers as he sleeps, and- had anyone been awake to notice- an observant viewer might have noticed his hair lifting away from his head as if in a slight wind.

He begins to whisper under his breath, words in tongues strange to Muggles but as familiar to Harry as the alphabet. His lids half open, green shining from beneath them. "Crucio," Harry hisses. The last syllable drags out into a piercing scream, and his back arches away from the ground.

Around him, pale faces appear from sleeping backs, wide-eyed and panicked. "Mrs. Benedict!" one of them yells.

But Mrs. Benedict is already there, heading to Harry's side. "Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" she asks frantically, which is the usual reaction to screaming children (but not a particularly practical one).

Harry has stilled, the curse over, but he's still mumbling, in Parseltongue now. The sounds twist and undulate in a way that humans were never intended to pronounce. His scar splits open, blood trailing down his face.

One of the more religious children crosses herself.

The Parseltongue switches smoothly to Latin, and then to another torture curse. Harry screams again, and there is the crash of breaking glass as every display case in the room shatters.

His energy dispelled, Harry slips into normal sleeps again. Mrs. Benedict shakes him tentatively, and Harry wakes up with a yawn. "Wha'?" he mumbles, wiping the blood away absently. He looks down at his hand curiously when it feels wet, and groans when he sees the blood. "Merlin," he mutters. "Again?"

There is a stunned silence, and then Mrs. Benedict echoes, "Again?" in a faint voice.

Harry shrugs. "It's always happened. It's okay; it's not dangerous or anything. It's sort of like... night terrors."

"You're going to go see the doctor in the morning," Mrs. Benedict says firmly.

"That won't do any good," Harry tells her, but it doesn't make any difference: he's going to a doctor whether he wants to or not.


End file.
